With an education in Mass Communication—and an engrossment in all that is curious and bewitching—Brianna Sugalski is Historical Fantasy author and blog editor at the Parliament House Press.
The Filipino-American author was born and raised on the island of Oahu in Hawaii, but travels every few years with her husband and two children. She admires the luminaries of the Victorian Era; growing up reading period literature, folklore, and fables has inspired her to twine vibrant settings of nature with emotional narratives that readers will hopefully enjoy. When she's not writing or studying history, Brianna can be found eating Snoballs or on a beach somewhere, picking up seashells with her toes.
Ultimately, she aspires to make her own readers laugh, to challenge their perspectives on societal and systemic prejudice, and to help them discover the magical meaning of their own powers within.
Disenchanted (Disenchanted Series, #1)
I’ve been working on this story for quite some time now, and can’t wait for you to read it. Lilac's troubles first started out as a means of distraction while our son spent four months in the NICU, but it soon turned into a fascinating undertaking that I could not stop thinking about.
I am honored to announce the release of my debut novel, Disenchanted. I cannot wait to take you on this whimsical woodland adventure through Brocéliande with Lilac, her morally ambiguous counterpart, and the Fairfolk... we shan’t dare forget them.
I'm currently working on the next adventure—or, perhaps continued travesty—in Lilac and Garin's Brocéliande journey.
Subscribe at the bottom of this page for updates, thank you endlessly for your friendship and support.
In the perilous beauty of silence and menacing shade,
Thou art set on the shores of the sea down the haze
of horizons untravelled, unscanned.
Untroubled, untouched with the woes of this world
are the moon-marshalled hosts that invade
Only at dusk, when lavender clouds in the orient twilight disband,
Vanishing where all the blue afternoon they have drifted in solemn parade,
Sometimes a whisper comes down on the wind from the valleys of Fairyland—
Sometimes an echo most mournful and faint like the horn of a huntsman strayed,
Faint and forlorn, half drowned in the murmur of foliage fitfully fanned,
Breathes in a burden of nameless regret till I startle,
disturbed and affrayed: